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PUBLISHERS 
I 14 

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NEW YORK 



Montreal 



THE LIBRARY OU 
CONGRESS, 

r>rf^, ; imp 

Cl_4R«CX'XXo No. 



Copyright, 1902 

Bv THE 

abbc^ press 










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Preface 

'^'^%a AYS I to my pipe, says I: 

*^^ '■ Old chap, would you mind if you happened to find 

'^y The things you have whispered to me 

Set down in a book, by hook or by crook, 
For jolly good fellows to see? 
I can do 'em in verse if I try." 

® ® ® 

And my pipe says to me, says he: 

" The things I have told are to have and to hold — 

Not intended for gossip or sale. 
If you must be a fool by metrical rule, 
Go tattle your own fairy tale, 
And give me a rest," says he. 







Yc TaDle o\ Conrcnts 



A Hand-Made Cigar, 9 

Verse, 10 

When the Mint is in the Liquor, 11 

An Autumn Afternoon, 12 

Innocence, 13 

Why Cindy's Nose Turns Up, 14 

The Lips of Guilt and the Lips of Love, 15 

Adam and Eve, 16 

A College Battle Song, 20 

The Rival Roses, 21 

When Love Saw Duty Clearly, 2^ 

Anizette, 25 

A Suicide, 26 

When Bettie Went to Meeting, 27 

The Dunes of Life, 29 

The Gossiping Pipes, 30 

The Cotillion, 31 

Colorado-Maduro, 33 

If I Could Only Weep, 34 



Smoke in His Eyes, 35 

A Song of the Simpler Things, 36 

Old Mrs. Skeesicks, ^7 

Reincarnation, 38 

Cloth of Gold, 39 

He Never Harmed Nobody, 40 

Good-bye, Old Brier Root, 41 

His Evening Pipe, 43 

A Hundred Millions. 45 

The Song of the Street, 47 

"The Old Man," 49 

Old Mammy's Pipe, 50 

The Lazy Sea, 51 

A Rumble and a Song. 52 

The Little Branch Road, 53 

My Grandfather's Fig Stem Pipe, 55 

The Virgin's Dream, 56 

To-day, 57 

Riches and Knowledge, 58 

Good Night, 60 







■^dcj^igat^i! ^M 




: A boy and a wad of stingy green, 
jSome "fillin' ", a match, and — all unseen. 
Behind the fence on a summer's day, 
Beneath the shade of a spreading bay — 
A "liand-made" cigar of preposterous siii 
Sends clouds of smoke to the sultry skies. 



"By gum!" said the youth, "this is simply ^eat 
'And while I am at it I'll take a bait. !,'("/ 1' 

j^,/' Taint- every/day that I get a chance ~a y^iLJi 

;0 hook suejx a roll from my daddy's pants _ 
nd ^^ lolled on the grass and he puffed- ^^yif'- 
In the swehering heat of a sumnKT^yf 



A^ffioment more and he closed his ^yes ^^ — X]^ 

rTo shut out the sight of reVolving'skies, K^^^ 
And he clutched at the gra^s on either side^'^''''^ 
As the earth careened and he felt h^'d slide. 
His stomach heaved aA^ the sweat broke out — 
He had taken "a bait" Without a doubt. 

W I ---^ 

He staggered home in the' broiling sun 
And tumbled to bed coAipIetely "done." 
S^JIe rallied at length and, solemnly swore, 
"v_Eke' a goody-good boy, hi'djsmoke no more. 
But he tried it again the viryViext<lay 
' .And smoked till he died in ^a usual way. 





CIGARETTE for an opera puff, 
A big cigar for a sporting man, 
But a corn cob pipe and good black stuff 
For the old-time gentleman. 




\\'l\ci\ fhc Miur is \\\ \\\c Liquor 




HEN the mint is in the liquor and its fragrance on the glass 
It breathes a recollection that can never, never pass — 
When the South was in the glory of a never-ending June, 
The strings were on the banjo and the fiddle was in tune, 



And we reveled in the plenty that we thought could never pass 
And lingered at the julep in the ever-brimming glass. 

■^ .^ ^ 

There was mettle in the morning and adventure in the chase, 

And Beauty sat the saddle with the poetry of grace; 

And the singing of the darkies in the cotton and the corn 

Was chorused with the echo of the old familiar horn. 

There was splendor in the glamour of the canopy at noon. 

And sweetness in the languor of the lazy afternoon, 

And the breezes of the evening were the breathings of romance 

That quickened into whispers in the rapture of the dance, 

While the banjo in the cabin and the fiddle in the hall 

With music filled the measure of the night's ecstatic thrall. 

^ ^ ^ 

O. the beauty of the Southland in the splendor of its prime, 

The fragrance and the plenty of a radiant summer time. 

When we reveled in the glory that we thought could never pass, 

And lingered at the julep in the ever-brimming glass. 

II 




J\n ]\u\umn T^frcrnoon 

ESIDE a hoary, stub-limbed, leafless tree 

Whose nakedness the kindly moss concealed, 
Upon a slope right-angled to the sun. 
Reclined a toiler weary of the field. 



A-near a yellow-hammer pecked a pine; 
(^^ A-wind came echoes of a harvest tune. 

toiler, drowsed in dull caloric, dreamed 
All through the lazy autumn afternoon, 

o o o 

Anon the sun sank low: the wind a-frcsh 

Brought curling leaves from nearby rustling trees 

That rattled on the toiler's wrinkled face 
And waked him from his old age dream of ease. 

o o o 

He rose, stifif-jointed, sore, and sought his cot 
To sleep and wake and toil and murmur not. 





mmm^. 



y. 









Innocence 

^'■"^ / I "l BAREFOOT maiden, wandering 
4 Ap.lp:J^'-fe( Across a field knee-deep in bloom, 

Pursued a gaudy butterfly 




Into the dread Morass of Doom. 
But, led by homing instinct, turned. 
And soon emerged with feet unsoiled, 
Though they had pressed the noxious mire, 
Where dalHant virtue sinks despoiled. 




13 




Willi Cinclii's Nose Turns Up 

J ."HwEETHEART Cindy's hair is flaxen, 

Fine as cocoon silk, 
Tumbling over tempting shoulders 

White and rich as milk. 
Cindy's eyes are big as marbles, 

Liquid as the dew. 
Bright as morning stars and colored 

With the sky's own blue. 

>S/^ "^^^ 

"^^^i^INDY'S nose turns up a little — 

Not abrupt or high — 
But enough to challenge notice, 

And I wondered why. 
Till I found the lips below it 

Pouting with a kiss, 
Then I knew that nature had not 

Fashioned it amiss. 





M 




The Lips of Guilt and the Lips ot Love 



HE lips of guilt are touched with a coal 

From the firiest depths of Hell, 
And the hot embrace is a demon's grip 

And the crunch of a human shell. 
But the lips of love are warm and moist 

As the sun and dew of God, 
And love's caress is the lift of life 

From the ruin of the rotting sod. 

^ ^ ■^ 

The vow that leaps to the lips of guilt 
Is the breath of a living lie 

Entombed in a whited sepulchre- 
There never to sleep or die. 

But the word that drops from the lips of love 
Is the voice of the living truth - 

That coaxes the good and the beautiful 
From the riot and reek of earth. 

^ ^ -^ 

O, God, keep me from the lips of guilt, 

From the crunch of the hot embrace, 
From the mock of the fetid vow, 

From the smell of the painted face. 
And give me a taste of the lips of love 

And the lift of love's caress — 
So may I live in the tents of peace 

On the fruits of happiness. 
15 




T^dam and Eve 

EHOLD a place of bloom and land of leaf. 
Where never there was death or bhght or grief 
To sigh their sorrows on the joying breeze 
Or hang their sable on the tented trees. 
Nor leaf nor twig nor shattered blossom lay- 
On field or hill or by the bowered way; 
But all was colored with the blush of birth, 
For God had breathed upon the virgin earth. 




oooo 

There Adam waked and saw with wondering eyes 
The sheltering foliage and the sifted skies, 
The trembling myrtle and the trumpet bold, 
The purpling grape, the citrus flecked with gold. 
He smelled the sprinkled morning sweet and cool 
As summer showers on a lilied pool, 
And on his quickened ear fell full and strong 
The music of a million-throated song. 
He rose majestic, featured like his God, 
Firm-fleshed, fine-sinewed, naked and unshod. 
And moved unchallenged down the scented aisles 
And paced with buoyant grace the winding miles 

i6 



Of Eden's daisied fields and broidered hills. 

Its stately rivers and its racing rills. 

He passed the creatures where they browsed or played- 

The fiercest tame, the timid unafraid. 

A tiger licked his hand and nosed his thigh; 

A huge hyena laughed and ambled by; 

A scampering fawn came trotting to be fed; 

A circling eagle settled on his head. 

He found no enemy from end to end: 

They knew him master, and he loved as friend. 

So wore the day and other days as kind: 

All dawn before — oblivion's night behind. 

oooo 

And yet the lord of this fair, fertile fief 
Unsmiling was as one acquaint with grief. 
Attuned to song and keyed to high command, 
His voice was silent in a singing land. 
The iridescence of those rainbow days 
Was glare and glamour to his vacant gaze. 
The forest's chanting and the hill's refrain 
Unmeaning beat upon his puzzling brain. 
An eager, gnawing hunger gripped his heart: 
He longed for something of himself a part. 
Unknowing what he sought, or here or there. 
He wandered, looking, listening, everywhere. 
At length his great potential soul made moan- 
It was not good for man to be alone — 
And while he slumbered came his pitying God 
To match the marvel of a breathing clod — 
17 



By surgery of Heaven to re-create 

Twain from one flesh, and man to woman mate. 

<xxx> 

The morrow broke on Eden more than fair 
And brought new carols on the rhythmic air. 
The grape was ripe, the citrus painted gold — 
The sap of life was wine turned virile-old. 
Then Adam waked, indeed, his blood afire 
And every tissue flamed with new desire. 
Leaping he went, instinct and appenent. 
To find and claim his heart's ordained content. 
Straight as a bird that homing wings its way. 
Drawn as a magnet by its polar sway. 
He shaped his course to where an eddying brook 
Played truant in a hedged and hooded nook. 
There oft he'd Iain upon the grassy bank — 
The while his nascent senses drowsed and drank 
Untasting of the bloom and scent and song — 
And. vaguely guessing, watched the mating throng 
Now all-discerning, hasting, hungering. 
He gained the hedge, but halted, wavering. 
Fearsome to look, yet eager to behold. 
Proving most timid when he felt most bold, 
As Love, all-daring, drives a dangered way 
And then stands dumb, unknowing how to say. 
But momently his courage came anew; 
Parting the brush, he started crashing through. 
But midway paused, transfixed by what he saw — 
Trembling with joy, yet stayed by rapturous awe. 
i8 



Among the lilies Eve stood ankle deep. 

And, curious, watched her mirrored image peep 

Between the floating flags that clustered there — 

Out-posing them and far surpassing fair. 

Her arms uplifted curving framed her face; 

Her slender figure bent in statured grace; 

Her gloried hair swept mantling to her waist; 

Her rounding hips and taper limbs were chaste 

As marble fleshed in tints of morning light — 

In beauty clad, incarnate dream of night 

Startled, she cast a quick inquiring glance. 

That artless kindled Nature's first romance. 

And stepped unfearing to the grassy slope. 

As Adam, wrought to do, and moved by hope, 

Came near, she knew her lord, instinct as he, 

And smiling met his look unbashfully. 

A moment stood they, eye commanding eye. 

With lips apart and pulses beating high. 

Then each cried, "' Mine," and other answered, " Thine,' 

And twain were one embraced in love divine. 

In that swift instant, clinging close and fast. 

They knew the ripeness of the darkened past; 

Then, linking arms, strolled raptured through the wood. 

While God observing saw His work was good. 




19 



A College Battle Song 

■ COLLEGE song and a college yell 
And a clinking farewell glass, 
A campus stroll and a parting pledge 

To tlie wistful Auburn lass, 
Then off to .war in the battling world 
And the clash of arm and brain, 
The stifling moil of the surging crowd 
And the heat of the blistered plain. 




And some there be of the swarming host 

In the thick of fight shall rise, 
While some will faint ere the sun swing out 

On the march of the morning skies, 
And some will forge to the foremost rank 

By the right of might preferred, 
While some will plod in the listless way 

Of the undistinguished herd. 



A campus stroll and a parting pledge 

To the wistful Auburn lass, 
A college song and a college yell 

And a clinking farewell glass, 
A health to him of the mighty arm 

In the ranks with us to-day. 
Then ofT to war in the battling world 

With a rousing hip-hooray! 
20 




The \7\\'i]\ Roses 

RED Rose bloomed on the stateliest stem 

In a garden of Orient grace, 
And no prince of the realm was more courtly than he 

Of the ruddy and velvety face. 
For he bowed with the wind to the homeliest maid, 
To the proudest and lowliest there, 
Though ever in fragrance his heart went out 
To the halt-blown White Rose near. 

■^ .^ ^ 

But oft as the Red Rose bent to the White 

With the weight of tlie whispering wind, 
As a maiden who won't, though she will in the end. 

Was the White still lower inclined. 
Till her breath fanned the cheek of a Yellow gallant 

Quite gorgeous in habit of green. 
Then the Red Rose glared and the Yellow Rose smiled. 

With the White Rose hanging between. 

■^ ^ ^ 

Now the hate of the Red for the Yellow grew fierce 

As the heat of a tropical sun. 
And it burned to the core of his hungering heart 

Till the day of his glory was done. 
Then the White Rose, spreading her petals at last. 

With a smile looked up at the Red; 
But in vain was the token her action bespoke. 

For the soul of her lover had fled. 

21 



And the Yellow Rose saw in the Rose Maid's act 

The deceit of his own sweet dream, 
And the light of his life went out with the day 

In a far, faint westering gleam. 
Then as soft as a whisper the night wind sighed. 

And the petals of Yellow and Red 
Went fluttering down in the union of fate 

To the common abode of the dead. 

^ .^ <^ 

Then the White Rose wept through the whole night long 

And saluted the opening morn 
With the tear-wet face of a sorrowing maid 

Who is loveless and all forlorn; 
And, undone by the heat of the withering sun. 

She rejoiced in the shadows of night. 
When she covered the petals of Yellow and Red 

With a virgin atonement of White. 




\X'l\ci\ Lo\'c Saw Durij CIcorlij 

wo narrow ways by merging lines 
Approached the land of Beauty. 
The one, all bowered. Love pursued; 
The other, open. Duty. 



® ® ® 

And Love was laughing, tripping on. 
With maiden thoughts beguiling 

The tedious miles to Beauty land 
Where Sweetheart Hope was smiling, 

® ® ® 

While Duty walked with measured tread, 

By long, unhalting paces, 
As one who looks nor right nor left. 

But forward ever faces. 

® ® ® 

At length a sound arrested Love, 
And, through the tangle peering. 

She spied the form of Duty there. 
The fateful juncture nearing. 

® ® ® 

In fear she halted, crouching low 

Beside the fragrant brambles. 
As Duty paused to view the land 

Of restful, shady rambles. 
23 



Then Love sped on; but Duty, too, 

As if by instinct started. 
Love tliouglit to stop: the thought at once 

To Duty was imparted. 

® S ® 
For, through the tangle, tearful Love 

Saw Duty only dimly — 
A fierce, relentless, monstrous thing. 

Blear-eyed and leering grimly. 

® ® ® 
At last in anger Love rushed on, 

Resolved on sheer defiance. 
If that should fail, there still was choice 

Of death before compliance. 

S® ® 
She reached the fateful meeting place. 

And stood a moment trembling, 
Then nerved herself to face her foe 

Her passion ill dissembling. 

® ® ® 
But, lo! his look, though firm, was mild. 

And even kindly seeming. 
Above his lofty, handsome head 
The light of peace was streaming. 

® ® ® 
Then Love, discerning, true to self. 
Stretched out her hand to Duty, 
And, leaning on his arm. went forth 
Into the land of Beauty. 
24 





^^^^"^^5^, 



;?^nizettc. 



|She can roll a cigarette 
(And smoke it bravely, too, you b( 
Pretty dashing Anizette. 

Times unnumbered we have sat 
Where Bohemians gather "at" 
For a hot dyspeptic lunch, 
Cigarettes and steaming punch. 

Ah, my sprightly Anizette iyV., 
The way you roll a cigaj^tte Xy;,- 
And lick the tissue edges wet/ ■'-' 



And smoke it jauntily, you \x4 jili!, 
Is,4ivid in my memory yet — IL", i'j^m 
(silent, smiling silhouette. ' ; U^ 
'..■■■■ ■ ' ff'Ji 

)me day in my castle hall, 

with one beside who's all in all, 
1 shall sup on quail and "sec," f -/jlffl 
Jyith servants at my slightest beck. lijMii-^i.y- ■. ;,; 
T'livs in dreamy silhouette , V-^ .■?A'i''i',&' 
my dainty girly pet 




P.^^\ dtfw my dainty gu-ly pet, ■V-^,j;,«i.2'Ssj|^-<'- 
V,Sif:?5,Who will roU my cigarette ■■■^tS^''/^^^|i^^^^^^ 
'^ % And lick the tissue edges wet^-t V_^_^" ^^ 

CI 



But she zc<ill not (iiutlic 
For she woii't be .■ 



^H 





n Suicide 




FRESH rose fair and fragrant 

As ever decked a stem, 
Surpassing all the jewels 

Of gaud or diadein, 
Looked 'round upon a garden 

With roses everywhere, 
But seeing only beauty. 

Knew not that she was fair. 

Until a loosened petal 

Betrayed her carelessness 
And bandit breezes taught her 

The price of loveliness. 
Too late she knew her beauty. 

Too late discovered pride, 
And looking on her sisters 

Despised herself and died. 



When Bertie WeiU to MeetiiK) 




\fb|go 



^ 



HEN Bettie went to meeting on a Sunday in the Spring, 
The fields were all a-blossom and the butterflies a-wing; 
The violets were hiding in the corners of the fence, 
And miiity flavors mingled with the fragrant innocence; 
The cotton-tails were nibbling at the tender underbrush. 
The gentle winds were whispering the blessed Sabbath 

hush, 

And blushes of the morning were reflected in her face 
Embowered in a bonnet of the most amazing grace — 
A simple white sunbonnet 

Her own hands made, I think; 
With dainty broid'ry on it — 
A bonnet lined with pink. 

And just beyond the turning of the Running Roses lane 
A lonely pine was singing in a sweetly solemn strain 
Above a brook that rippled with a laugh across the road. 
Where, blinking in the sunshine, sat a fat and lazy toad. 
And there I loitered, worshipping the beauty of the day 
And waiting for the welcome of a modest maiden's way — ■ * 
A welcome that was given in the sparkle of her eye, 
Then hidden in her bonnet with a scarcely uttered sigh — 
A simple white sunbonnet 

Her own hands made, I think; 
With dainty broid'ry on it — 
A bonnet lined with pink. 
27 



Entrancing and bewitching as an artist's summer dream, 

She halted at the crossing of the laughing httle stream. 

Enraptured and bewildered by the beauty of the scene, 

Transfixed I lay unspeaking in the deep and tender green, 

Till Bettie, with a gesture of impatience and surprise, 

Looked full upon me, saying in a form uncountrywise: 

"Why, Uncle John, you heathen, aren't you going to church to-day?' 

And pouted in her bonnet as I firmly told her nay — 

A simple white sunbonnet 

Her own hands made, I think; 

With dainty broid'ry on it — 
A bonnet lined with pink. 




28 




The Dunes of Lite 

[JJ^^SHHE surf breaks hard on the helpless beach 
WteXiK g And firms the shifting sand 
Till the useless, yielding, drifting dunes 
Make the level highway strand. 

^ ^ .^ 

So the troubles of life in pitiless waves 

Impact man's fruitless years, 
Till he walks on a pavement of past misdeeds 

Impearled with his own sad tears. 







Che Gossiping^ipcs. 



When the briarwoods are going and we're all squarcKa' 
We don't seem to mind in the least what we say. 
At the city man's club or the country man's store; 
Where men congregate and a woman is a bore^/ 
You will hear more gossipy an hour, I declare, 
ThanJs-uttered-irr-arWeelc at a missionary fair. 

When the briarwoods are going ai}d the smoke\loud 
There's a whisper in the_stem_and_a\chuckle-irLth^bDV>j 
T.riWTtatfe^"ourtHe~iIsters ol the felloiA's who're away— 
But I wouldn't take an oath to a sin^e word we say. 
We pass around a slander as we pass around a light, 
And we smoke reputations :with a Hevilish-delightrr - 





When the briarwoods are going and the nicotijje stews. 
It's a rank distillation ol the scandal/maker'^ewg, 
itVbttte^on the tongue ; it is pQiSonb 
And it's^iadly to a cat or a pretfy-.^j^man/^.name-. 



mthe briarwoods are gojng; 
^don'l/seerp' tjjmind.'jn'the' 




TIAC Cotillion 



c ALUTE your partner! " " Balance all! " 



The fiddle sounds; the dance begins; 

And nimble feet 

Keep rhythmic beat, 
In figures some good folk call sins; 

And hearts are light, 

And faces bright. 
And fast the rattling numbers go 
In cadence with the rosined bow. 



" First four forward! " " Back again! ' 
The candle burns with brighter flame; 

The back-log blaze 

Illumes the maze, 
And shadows play a grotesque game 

Athwart the walls; 

And louder calls 
The fiddler and his lively tones 
Put mettle into lazy bones. 



" Ladies cross over! " " Do-ce-do! " 
Now hearts a-flutter, eyes a-glance, 

And finger tips. 

And whisp'ring lips 
Make music sweeter than the dance, 
31 



The while a blush, 

A ripe, red flush. 
On every maiden's waxen cheek, 
With dimpling smiles plays hide and seek. 

" Swing your partner! " " Hands around! " 
The fiddler drives the eager bow 

Until it trips 

In hops and skips. 
And makes the music faster flow; 

And in the whirl 

One winsome girl 
With tender touch and laughing eyes 
Gives four men's hearts a glad surprise. 

" Swing corners! " " Balance all! " 
Each man among the smitten lot, 

On conquest bold, 

Kre love grows cold. 
Resolves him there upon the spot; 

And scarce can wait — 

So slow the gait 
Cotillions pace in times like these — 
To throw himself upon his knees. 

"Salute your partner!" "Take your seats!" 
The fiddle stops; tlie dance is done; 

And four men bold. 

Ere love grows cold, 
Turn quickly to the winsome one, 

But stop amazed. 

And all quite dazed — 
She smacks the fiddler, smiling, " O, 
I married him an hour ago." 
32 






We brag about our pipes, 

-> And we polish up our pipes 

On our coat sleeves till they shine. 

But when you're by yourself 

You lay it on the shelf— 

If I have "the price" I do so mine. 

The most delicious pipe, 

Until it's good and ripe, 

Ruts a fever blister on the tonglie 

°^ And when the sweetest p/pe 

; Gets slightly overripe 

The song it sings is besti 

', /'; Between the biting pip 
' ,° And one that's overripe, \ 
With a smell that's louder tha)i 
I've found it best by far 
To choose a good cigar 
For my stomach's sake and neighbor^ 






If I Could OnlLj Weep 

PASSING cloud, an April shower; 
A rainbow and a bursting flower; 
A sunset, radiant, rich and deep— 
Ah, me, if I could only weep. 

® ® ® 

A broken toy, a crying child; 
A wish new-born, a heart beguiled; 
For hope is high as grief is deep — 
Alas, if I could only weep. 



® ® ® 

A little corpse, a mother's tear; 
A thrill, a throb — a life is near. 
And love is broad as death is deep- 
Ah, me, if I could only weep. 

® ® ® 

A soldier slain, a sobbing sire; 
A nodding hour, a spirit choir; 
For he who gave shall always keep- 
O God, if I could only weep. 
34 




fhsn'i so boJ-fftis Luchellor hie. 

With a pipe ona o Look onj a lire. 
you </on'Hee/ me neeJ o/o Jo// of a wire 

To ralli /o. caress anJ aamire 
/fy /nenas of me nove/ a on/ mm a it /yawn 

'nna Turn me to memory's fnmna. 
While /nep/pe purrs /ovingly down in me oowt 
so IS sinaina a sona 

T/ere erv photos ana /nnkets ona/rnles oa/orB- 
foch pnzea /or a aay or en hour. 

LiHe SGo^eea ana sne'fs Irom /he eooolmem/e 
Or /he seen/ o/o /ropical //ower 



There's tiary who's mamea:/h&^ Sessjhe o/amaia. 

Theres Laura who's <^one on /he s/oqe: 
Theres-.Ah. how ihe posi we imoi^ined wos sealeo 

/s eaope a/ Ine fear/u//es/ po<je. 

There's sona /ho/ /he /ips wil/no/ /orm in/o SQurKJ. 

Thoui^h ihe hear/ he o/une wifh Ine Oir 
The guicl\ wil/ nol lool\ inihe/aceo/ me </eoa. 

Thouon 1/ c/ina /o ihe corpse in despair 
rherei a presence ihal deepens fht /onenneSi here 

li/ne/he huih of /he unermosi shes — 

The Lacliloa is ashes, ihe /ire has aone out 
•And /he smo/te or /he pipe's m my eyes 



35 




A Song of the Simpler Things 

" SING nie a song of the Simpler Things — 

Of tlie hves that love and laugh. 
I'm tired of War and the Song of Sweat 

That tells but the Bitter Half. 
Tlie earth is strong and the world is well- 

'Tis the singer that's all awry. 
The sun is up and will never go down 

Till the stars are in the sky. 

o o o 

O. sing me a song of the manly man 

Who knows his burden's his own, 
The man who laughs in the rain or shine 

While he swings his hoe alone. 
It isn't the Thing That's Done To Us 

That burns like a red-hot brand — 
It's the Thing We Do or Leave Undone 

Because we don't understand. 

o o o 

O, sing me a song of fruits and flowers — 

Tlie tints of the peach and rose, 
Or the blush that blows on the virgin cheek 

Of the Fairest Thing that grows. 
I'm tired of Wars and Alarum Bells 

And the Light That Flames the Sky. 
O, sing me a song of the Simpler Things 

That live and love and die. 
36 




Old Mrs. SkccsicKs 

LD Mrs Skeesicks had troubles to burn. 
From the cause of her weeds to the whey in the churn, 
And all her life long was a woman of woe 
' Till grief was a habit she couldn't forego. 

oooo 

With a husband who drank till he drank himself dead, 

A son in the wars and a daughter ill-wed, 

A hollow-horn cow and a dog with the mange, 

If she hadn't been sad 'twould have been very strange. 

OOOO 

But such is the power that habits impart 
When fixed to the hand or the head or the heart. 
The less Mrs. Skeesicks had reason to mourn 
The more did she sorrow, the more was forlorn. 

o<xx> 

Though she got a new husband I'm sorry to state 
That she grieved for the loss of her grief for " the late." 
V\'ith her daughter divorced and at home with her son 
She wept for the troubles foreverundone. 

OOOO 

The cow with the hollow horn grew better at last 
And she took to her bed for the grief that was past. 
The dog with the mange got new hair on his hide 
And it broke her heart quite and she upped and she died. 

37 




Reincarnation 





With a pipe and a pouch and a new magazine, 

I measure my length in the deep, cool green 

In a Iragrant retreat ol a garden in June, 

And lazily welcome the long afternoon. , 

Indifferently turning the ad. pages through, 
^The |jontispiece breaks on my day-dreaming view— 
'^fie citance counterfeit of the woman I fled 
:st substance were wasted and honor were dead 

Ne4 visioned I fathom the night of her eyes, 
AnH read as at noonday »he clear shining lies 
Thfe smile on her lips is the same as of old — 
-.Thank God I I know now how wicked and co 

But lo, as I look, reincarjiafe she lives 1 
Arid her victim enraptured, forgetting, forgives. 
Long hours I gaze, till the passion that died 
Leaps rioting over convention and pride 

V/-A touch on my shoulder, a voice in my ear, /T& 
' And my wife says, laughing, "You lazy old dear, '• 
You've slept through the whole of the long afternoon. 
And crumpliJ this beautiful picture of June." ^ t^\ 




38 



Clorii of Gold 



V^^l^^T morn a rosebud peeped with timid glance 
yL^P Between the clustered screening leaves, 
>3^^ And blushed to see a dashing sunbeam dance 

"<r=-r*i Across the housetop's sloping eaves. 



T noon, within her verdure tent, the rose 
With smiles her lipping petals part, 
■•^C^ Awhile the sunbeam on her bosom glows 
■'^•■s-^ And burrows in her calyxed heart. 





T eve, relaxed by chilling autumn air. 
The vestments of the rose untold; 

The sunbeam sinks to sweet oblivion there 
And dying lights the cloth of gold. 



^'^"^'^ 




39 




He Mcvcr Harmed Notx:»dy 



^E Joey Green is dead an' gone, 
An' few there be to grieve him; 
An' most amazin' grace 'twill be 
If heaven should receive him. 



" Nil nisi bones," the poet says; 

So peace unto his ashes. 
His epitaph will have to be 

A line of * * * * and 



Forgot shall be his wuthless ways, 
His cussin' an' his toddy, 

In Sister Brown's " de mortify," 
" He never harmed nobody." 

An' who can boast as much as this — 
The tony or the shoddy — 

To have it said in earnestness: 
" He never harmed nobody?" 




40 



Good-Due, Old liricr Poor 

(Scene: A bachelor's den. Time: 11:30 p.m., December 31) 




OOD-BYE, old brier root, good-bye; 
I quit you with the past. 
i My resolution's fixed — we part. 
This pipeful is the last. 
In half an hour the New Year dawns — 
I lay my vices by; 
Those glowing coals await you now — 
Old brier root, good-bye. 

You've been a comfort, I must own. 

I mind me of the night 
When faithless Julia sent adrift 

A wretched, loveless wight, 
And here I sat with you and Grief — 

We three — nor silence broke, 
But banished Grief and Julia, too, 

In curling clouds of smoke. 

Such service cannot be forgot — 

I will not lose you quite; 
So, there upon the mantel rest 

Within my grateful sight. 
41 



This pouch of Turkisli. too, shall be 

Remembrance of the hour 
I found the courage to subdue — 

And to forget, the power. 

In token whereof, one more pipe — 

The clock has not yet struck: 
A wisp from that old letter there 

Behind her picture stuck — 
The letter as the picture hers — 

I know the hand: 'tis well — 
Turn down the one, the other burn — 

A fitting last farewell. 

The letter fresh? What trick is this? 

The date six months ago — 
I'll kill that nigger — and she says: 

" I grieve I acted so." 
Strike on. old clock, till crack of doom! 

Wliat. though resolve be broke — 
I'm bringing back my Julia's face 

In curling clouds of smoke. 





His l:vci»iiui Pipe 

[IE long day dies like a well-spent life, 
And the peace of the night stills passion and strife 
Tlie sweet dew falls on the fresh-plowed field, 
As the pledge of the sky for a bountiful yield. 
And the toiler brings into the prattle of home 
The heft of the yeoman, the smell of the loam. 
The horse in the stable is munching his oats 
To the gamut of grunts from the satisfied shoats ; 
The cattle are fed, and the milk in the pail 
Is foaming the strainer and brimming the bail. 
The candles are lit and the table is spread, 
The family gathers — the blessing is said. 

The picture is perfect in light and in shade. 

As pictures are dreamed of and pictures are made. 

But alas for the artist, alack for his art — 

Nor the brush nor the pencil can picture the heart. 

A hint of its hurting may furrow the face, 

But its agony hides in the secretmost place ; 

Or something of gladness a dimple may tell, 

But the spring of its joy is deep as a well. 

Nor science nor magic can furnish a rule 

To fathom by vision the depth of a pool. 



The chummiest chums will at times fall out. 
And, scorning to quarrel, will sullenly pout, 
Each wronging and wronged, each stubborn and stiff, 
Till a feud grows out of a trivial tiff. 
So, a man and his wife, like " Betsy and I," 
May come to a parting and hardly know why. 
A word out of place, a preoccupied look, 
A doctrine, a fad, or a song or a book, 
43 



The name of the baby, the price of a dress, 
A trifle or nothing, or, generally, less. 
When the liver is torpid or business awry, 
Is good for a scolding, a pout or a cry. 

In silence the supper is ended at last. 

As glum as a funeral, grim as a fast ; 

Like breakfast and dmner, with never a word 

But " Pass me the bread," or " I wouldn't choose curd." 

The cause of the row was a button, I think, 

She offered to fix it — and could in a wink — 

But he crabbidly whittled a " peg " and " allowed " : 

"A man hadn't ought to be overly proud." 

She swallowed a sob and he pouted all day. 

In the usual gallant and husbandly way. 

By the table he sits, with his pipe and his book, 

Anon peeping up with a shame-faced look 

At his wife over there where the shadows are deep, 

Indulgently rocking the baby to sleep. 

He remembers his courting, remembers the face 

As full as a cherry, as smiling as grace, 

When he told her his love with an awkward caress. 

And she blushed with the rapture she couldn't confess. 

He remembers the watching, all weary and worn. 

And the prayer he prayed when the baby was born. 

He remembers the fever, its burning, and how 

As cooling as dew was the hand on his brow. 

He read and he smoked, and he smoked and he thought, 
Till he gathered the courage to do what he ought. 
He picked up his chair and drew lovingly near. 
Then kissed her and said— something we shouldn't hear. 
44 




A Hundred Millious 

HUNDRED millions of money! 
A dollar a head and more 
From the millions who toiled and stinted 

And failed of the scantiest store — 
The millions of moles and gophers 
■"-■' Who burrowed the earth for gold, 

The millions who furrowed the surface 
And tended the crop and fold. 

$ $ $ 

A hundred millions of money 

In a hand as soft as a glove. 
While millions'of hands are callous 

And empty of all but love! 
Would earth yield less of its substance 

Had he of the hoard not been? 
Or the world give less of its sweetness? 

Or more of sorrow and sin? 



A hundred millions of money! 

A prince of the realm of greed 
Whose tithings are more than plenty 

For the utmost of human need! 
You say he will scatter the millions 

Where the sweat of the toiler was sown? 
I tell you he'll only be yielding 

The workaday world its own. 
45 



A hundred millions of money! 

And what did he give for the store? 
And who was it levied the taxes — 

A dollar a head and more? 
Did he earn or deserve it? I ask you. 

And what can humanity say 
To the God it pretends to worship 

For serving His own this way? 

$ $ $ 

It isn't the fault of riches, 

It isn't the fault of the man, 
It's the curse of the love of Mammon, 

The shame of the shameless plan; 
The license of pelf to plunder 

A million men at a time, 
But for him who filches his dinner 

The brand of a felon's crime. 




Tnc Song of the Street 




■^is.: 



LAMOR, clatter, jam and jingle — 
Hear the merry din! 
Pacing feet and flying fingers — 

How they haste to win! 
All day long my cobbles ringing 

Sound the golden strain; 
All the night the echo lingers 
Till the morn again. 
Stretching from the busy city 

To the river shore, 
Loud I clang the song of traffic, 
Clinking evermore. 



Piling higher yellow profits — 

How the music swells! 
Tumbling down unstable fortunes — 

Hark, alarum bells! 
Snatching fame on dizzy ladders — 

Shouts the populace! 
Lying in the curbstone gutter — 

Failure hides its face. 
47 



From the sunrise till the shadow 
Ring the notes of gain, 

And at night my flagstones echo 
Disappointment's pain. 



Ever rushing, ever rattUng, 

Commerce frets my way 
Till the darkness, plaintive, murmurs 

Back the song of day. 
Never resting, never moving, 

I lie prone along 
From the river to the city. 

Pressed by every throng. 
Hard my task and past enduring 

Weren't the river nigh. 

Cooling all my fever with its 

Liquid lullaby. 




43 



The Old mm" 



^'■^M^M 




COVET not kingdoms or riches of earth, 

Mere phantoms of Hfe's Uttle span, 
And yet there's a station I long to attain: 
I'd like to be called " The Old Man." 



In army, or office, or college, or mill. 
Where men render homage to worth, 

You'll find " The Old Man " i5 a nobler degree 
Than titles of favor or birth. 



" The Boss " is a master who drives with a lash; 

" The Governor" rather a guy; 
But labor laughs loud where they say " The Old Man,' 

And hushes the workingman's sigh. 



He's patient of error, exacting of truth. 
Rebukes, if he must, with a smile; 

A brother in sorrow, and " one of the boys," 
But still •• The Old Man " all the while. 



The day he is absent the shop is awry, 
Though the " sub " does the best that he can. 

And when he returns the men pray as they work: 
" God bless and preserve ' The Old Man.' " 
49 




Old Mammv^s pipe. 

Did you ever see a "mammy" with her old day pipe? 
Then listen while I tell you what she used to look like 
A red spotted kerchief on a kinky, woolly head; 
A big, round face like a loaf of ginger bread; 
A countenance as kindly as her features are immense, 
And teeth like the palings on the Big House fence; 
Her sleeves to her elbows and her skirts hitched high 
In the Maud Muller fashion, though not a bit shy — 
She ambles to the door and she squints at the sun : 
"Plum twe'v- o'clock, niggah, an' de dinnah not done.' 



After "chunking" up the fire till it's roaring red hot, 

And the dumplings bump the cover of the three-legged pot. 

She "hunkers" on the "h'a'th" and she fishes out a coal 

Which she flips with her fingers to the old clay bowl 

Half filled with the "heelings" of "Ole Mahster's muh-shawm," 

And sits by the jamb where it's comfortably "wahm." 

She smokes in contentment while the dinner boils on — 

"Tuhbacca is a comfo't des as sho as you is bawn" — 

And she chuckles when I chunk her with a sto'-bought sack: 

"De Lawd bless you, honey, you knows whut I lak." 



'"^a. 





50 



The Lazy Sea 




BOAT comes drifting on the tide, 
Nor sail nor helmsman guiding, 
For lovers are the passengers, 
And love is all confiding. 
No storm shall come nor sorrow be 
Above the faithful lazy sea. 

^ ^ ^ 

A fisher slowly spreads his net 

And bides the tide's receding. 
What though the catch be small or none? 

Too long is life for speeding. 
With grog and pipe contented he 
To wait beside the lazy sea. 

^ ^ ^ 

A truant boy picks up a shell 

And sends it sailing seaward, 
Or dabbles in the sunny surf 

That shallows to the leeward. 
Of stupid books all thoughtless he 
Beside the wistful, lazy sea. 

^ ^ -^ 

Oh, lazy sea! Hypnotic spell! 

Unbroken be it ever! 
So let me drift untoiling on. 

Beyond the wave and weather, 
Where love and age and youth shall be 
Undriven as the lazy sea. 
51 




A RumDIc and a Song 

AR down among the toilers — 

Intoned in human wrong. 
Below the cankered stratum 

A rumble rolls along. 
It sounds like angry thunder 

Imprisoned under ground; 
It roars like mother lions 

Despoiled of whelp and bound. 

Q® ® 

But up among the thoughtful — 
From rich, red, feeling hearts. 
Above the greed and glamour 

A far, faint echo starts. 
It sounds like benediction 

Or quickly answered prayer, 
Attuning as it filters 
The sweet, resilient air. 

® ® ® 

And all the wrought race listening 

May know the end is near, 
When toil shall have its largess 

And wealth shall know no fear: 
No more the roar shall rumble, 

Intoned in hutnan wrong, 
But like a grand profondo 

Resound the welling song. 




52 









JWc Litric Bremen Rocid 

HE Little Branch road runs fro in Watertankville 
Twelve miles to the town of Begosh. 
(In the parlance of railroading " run " is the 
word — 
As a matter of fact it's a josh — ) 
Through Buttermilk valley, by Blackberry 
hill, 
With Possunitrot station half way. 
At a sixty-mile clip and with palace car ease 
(If you're careless about what you say). 



The time-card announces two trips in a day, 

(Four hours to get there and back — 
Two hours for running, an hour for stops, 

And an hour for jumping the track.) 
The engineer follows the telegraph poles, 

As a sailor the beacons at sea. 
Contented to know he is hitting the grit 

About where the rails ought to be. 
53 



The conductor's " the captain " and wears a straw cap — 

The most popular man on the road. 
He takes up the tickets (and " knocks down " the cash) 

Or trucks when there's freight to unload. 
At the end of the run he has butter and eggs, 

Or other things equally nice, 
Consigned without way bill by good country friends 

(For chunks of the company's ice). 



The Little Branch road ain't so warm as the Trunk, 

And doubtless the earnings are shy, 
But it's pie to the crew and the Buttermilk folk 

(Though the management can't figure why). 
The passenger kicks as the passenger will. 

But it's no use to tret or to talk: 
If you don't like the gait of the Little Branch road, 

Just take up your gripsack and walk. 




54 





]VIv Grandfather's fig Stem pipe 

An old-fashioned man in a straight back chair 
As high as the crown of his thick, white hair 
A tall old man with a Puritan face, 
A fine old man with a Cavalier's grace — 
Awaiting the bdrveSTofyears grown ripe, 
Sils_geacdc31y smoking his fig stem pipe. 

a&-h i3_meiapry traces the years 
o tde struggles of youth with its fanciful fea 
He smiles at the children who bower the way 

rom the snow-capped Now to the green Yesterday 
ArM smiling forgets that the years grow ripe, 
And\he fire is out in his fig stem pipe. ^^ 

^ A woman beside him with gray-streaked pair, ; 
^^f The daughter of her who was wont to sii there, 
- Has twisted a taper and proffers a flame \ - 
"^A^^e- o4d man rouses and whispers the nai 
Of o ne'^Vho'-was^? rjiered in years grown ripe, 
And sends up a prayer with the smoke of his pipe. 

patient old man with an old-fashioned air 
s calmly awaiting the answer to prayer — 
-sW6et-old_man with a beautiful face -^ 

w with a failR^ as enduring as grace — / , 
And the Father is sweetening the years grbwrjj ripCi 
As smoking is sweetening tne fig stem pipe. 




t^ 




55 




The VirgiiVs Dream 




WEARY of the garish world, her eyes turn inward and behold 
A restful, radiant paradise, whose wonders e'er remain untold. 




:^si:^^ 





To-Day 

O-DAY the bugle calls; the drumbeat sounds the march. 
Yesterday's forgot; to-morrow's ne'er begun. 
To-day is all that's vouched beneath God's smiling arch, 
And now or never must the victor's crown be won. 

<x>c>o 

To-day the leaf is turned; the page is fairly writ. 

He who would read its lessons must embrace the light 
While yet the sun rides high, for soon the shadows flit 
And gloom the lines and close the volume with the night. 

oooo 

To-day the path is plain. What forests loom beyond 

With tangled wilds, what streams with banks of sinking sod, 

Shall stay me not. nor tempter's wiles nor dalliance fond — 
I'll track the way to-day and leave the rest with God. 




57 





Riches arid Knowledge 

^ N the shore of a mighty ocean, 
Lapping the red old earth 
From the everlasting mountains, 

Giving its currents birth, 
To the time-girt waste of waters 
Ebbing away for aye — 
At the close of a day in Autumn 
I watclied the ships go by. 



There was one that rode in splendor 

Dashing a silver spray; 
All her spars were tipped with jewels 

Flashing the light of day; 
And the sunset made her masthead 

Gleam like a golden crown 
'Mid her sails snow-white and silken. 

Hark! " The ship's gone down! " 
Cry the boatmen in the harbor. 

Buried beneath the wave — 
The wreckers snatch her treasure 

Where breakers mark her grave. 
58 



There was one that moved in grandeur, 

Plowing a sturdy way, 
And the lamp on her masthead gleaming 

Shone as the light of day 
'Mid her sails all weathcrbeaten. 

Hark! "The ship's gone down!" 
Cry the boatmen in the harbor — 

All but her lamplit crown; 
And there on the billows floating, 

Quenchless, it shines for aye. 
While the people reap her treasures 

And ships go riding by. 




59 



Good Might 




OOD NIGHT. 

Without a care or sorrow, 
Save impatience for the morrow, 
Baby sleeps in fairy deeps — 

Good night. 



jOOD NIGHT. 
(■(JSj^"^ The raptured lover lingers, 

jSt^^) Touching lips and pressing fingers — 
All too soon declines the moon — 

Good night. 



[OOD NIGHT. 

The embers turn to ashes; 
Eyes are closed with weighted lashes; 
Hushed is life — beyond all strife- 
Good night. 




60 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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